Goodbye Sister!
by omeganaruto
Summary: Tazma Grimm has crossed a line that she should never have. Now she faces what is true fear.


The dragon flames that can burn bright white light. The wolf's howls that can break even the deafening silence of the night. The Phoenix's life that can rekindle even in the deepest depths. The unicorn's horn that can pierce even the blackest of black.

This is what the darkness was going up against. Why did the shadow believe it could actually stand a chance?

What was merely seconds of passing felt like hours. And yet as if to contradict itself, those precious seconds seemed to slowed down to a crawl.

Tazma's body hit the ground cold hard and fast. The very life of her erupted from her mouth as the back her of head bounced off of the cement floor. The four Mysticon warriors continued their attack. This was their final battle after all.

There was no time to think, Tazma's body reacted on its own, pushing past the screams her body was roaring at her, dodging as the blow that tried to claim her where she once was, shattering the ground beneath her into debris. It was a moment that had seemed to slow down.

Maintaining her footing as she landed she quickly drew a step back as she positioned herself into a new stance, drawing her sharp nails across as if she was trying to slice the air itself, an echoing sound came from beneath her as the water gave off its signature splash. Her grit face of determination was quickly met with adversity.

The four Mysticons - Dragon Mage, Ranger, Knight, and Striker – stood before her. None of them wore the determination that she had grown accustomed to in the past. No, what she was greeted with was with vicious strife, ones willing to make her suffer for the sins she had committed.

The rain continued to drizzle around them creating a frigid atmosphere among the five warriors. Tazma gritted her teeth as she tried to fight away the rising chill that nipped at her heart. The air grew tense with every passing moment. The disparity of power between her and them were at great odds, there was no way she was going to win.

Instinctively she took a step back. Gripping her fist tighter she tried to steel her resolve.

 _Stop pretending! You're actually scared, aren't you?_

Why would I b-

 _Then why are you shaking so much?_

It was true; the woman that had tried to boast herself, her numb fist was quailing before the overwhelming odds.

 _Isn't it obvious? Everyone is afraid to die. Everyone feels the same. Not too long ago that particular person felt the same as well. Can't you hear it? Your heart is trembling. It's scary, is it not?_

"What's your point?" Tazma said in a voice so small no one but her own mind could hear her. She wasn't going to cower and run away. That, for sure, she knew.

 _They aren't worried about you. They are worried about their loved ones, their family and friends. Can't you see? They realize if they let you live you will only bring them even more misery. Each one of them is determined to do it._

Disbelief hung in front of Tazma as her own thoughts continued to betray her; she glanced anxiously at the gazes before her moving, her gaze moving from both here and there. What she saw sent a cold chill down her spine.

With wet hair plastered against their cheeks, the Mysticons eyes were filled with determination each as if attempting to stab her with their hatred. She looked at them with silence, she knew already what each one was trying to convey with their silent conviction.

Tazma's throat was tight; she was beginning to have a time breathing in and out. Just the silence between them was enough to send a tense shudder down her body. The rain drops dripping down her face caused herself to shudder at its light touch.

 _This is it. This is where you are going to die, isn't?_

"No it isn't…" she ached in spite of herself.

 _Quit lying._

Screaming almost to instinctively cover her fear as to not lose heart, darkness started to emit from Tazma's finger tips.

 _This is the final fight!_

"I'M OKAY WITH THAT!" she screamed as she launched her magic at the Mysticon Warriors. Darkness erupted from her arms like starving death seeking life to erase. Like canine starved to death bearing their teeth they would devour both flesh and bone. In a single moment she would remove them all in a single move.

In one moment, Tazma would feel the hot piercing pain through her shoulder. In the next moment, she would witness as her powerful magical would diminish before her eyes. All the emotion she put into it simply discarded as if it was the ravings of a small child throwing a temper tantrum. As if fate itself tried to rebuke her of her fantasy.

Then silence fell, Zarya, Mysticon Ranger, lowered her bow, her aim as true and noble as the wolf itself.

Tazma fell to her knees, screaming in pain as she clutched her arm burning in pain. She could feel her strength start to leave the right side of her body. But she had no time to worry about that, she still had one more arm after all.

As Pain manifested into a scream, Tazma launched another spell from her usable arm this time it launched like a serpent looking for the forbidden fruit. Fangs as poisonous as its master it would latch own and drain away anything and everything.

As if to cut away any hope that Tazma may have had, a pink hilted blade cut through her magic like it was simply butter. The sight nearly petrified her as she watched the Mysticon Knight, Emerald, rips though her attempt to fight back and charged at her through the splashing grounds, her blade emitting its signature pink flame that would never be dowsed by the rain.

Tazma had no time to react; her body fighting through pain on muscle memory alone forced her up as the dwarf knight of the Mysticon swung her blade vertically at her head. It was only a miracle in of itself that she was able to bring up a shield of blackness. Emerald kept slamming away, each thrust chipping away at the barrier that stood between life and death.

 _You can't win!_

Almost as if to defy the words of fate themselves, Tazma miraculously found the strength to somehow pull herself away from the onslaught. Not letting the lifeline given to her go, she launched an attack with her only good hand. She would at least take one down. But it was an outcome was already a forgone conclusion since the beginning of this fight. Because within a split second of throwing her laze attempt of an attack, Tazma found herself into a position as her arm was twisted behind her as she was forced to double over by her assailant.

The "Party Bringer" of the Mysticon, Striker, otherwise known as Piper, used her circus level of acrobatic skills to not only use her magic hoops to protect her friend but also used it as a way to wrench Tazma's arm behind her back. Using the back of her leg Striker not only to finish the arm lock, but to position Tazma into a position that was more befitting of the way these girls saw her at this moment. Just scum on the heel of their foot.

Tazma pulling away, more like was released, looked squarely at the elf in the face. To be the center of so much hatred of a character that was once filled with so much love left one in chills. As if desperately trying to rack her mind around the situation that she was in, Tazma clumsily threw a punch after punch at the elf.

Perhaps adapting on a fly, or even out of pity, Piper dodged every blow that thrown at her with graceful acrobatic skills and were then proceeded to be countered with her own attack to match everyone – striking her with her own punch or kick or with her magic hoop. Thinking of such an answer as cold as this coming from the kindest of the Mysticons, Tazma felt dread with each and every blow that struck her to the core.

Another punch from the team's striker and she struck the ground with a splashing stomp.

 _If that's all the power you have then all that training was worthless in the end!_

"SHUT UP!" a scream cut through the air from the bottom of her heart. This would probably be Tazma's last attempt as she leapt at the Mysticons before her body would erupt in green flames. But that wasn't the true attack as the staff of the Mysticon Dragon Mage was thrusted at her nearly puncturing her throat.

Arkayna, the one that probably lost the most to the traitor of the Astromancers, dislodged the dragon staff and swiveled it into the back of her neck, sending her straight to the ground where she belonged. Tazma killed her parents, it was the least she could do.

Not even getting a second to gasp the life that was forced from her body, the dragon mage continued her ruthless assault. Showing every bit of training she has had received, striking at many points of her body with just the tip of her staff. She never hit anything vital, but enough to do damage. She clearly wanted to make the girl suffer.

Gripping Tazma by her collar, Arkayna dragged her to her feet, they one another eye-to-eye. The color in Tazma's face drained away as she met with the rage in her eyes rivaled that of the Dragon's hottest flames. Said flames erupted from the dragon mage's staff sending her into the cold wet ground.

Picking herself off of the ground, Tazma had no time to react, she was close to death's door, and all she could do now was attack. Mind spinning crazy like a wheel out of control, she launched at the Mysticons once again. The sound of her footfalls striking against the despairing sea at her feet was he only sound in this serene silence.

There was no thought put into such an attack. Every time she tried to attack, she was simply stricken back. She had no plan it was simply a dying woman's last attempt to fight back. Every blow to her body felt like a boulder striking her aching body. All she was doing at this point was flailing around like a mad woman. This was clearly not a fight but a murder. It was all a struggle.

And it was all meaningless.

Then as if in synced, full power of the Dragon, Wolf, Phoenix, and Unicorn erupted from their codex pieces. The time it took to blink was all it took as Tazma herself was engulfed in the power of the Mysticons that she so desired. It was an ironic twist of fate.

Pain and fear manifested itself in a scream that bellowed from the woman's throat nearly drowning out the erupting magic, her mouth agape by what could only be described as her very soul had been ripped out of her very body.

Then the screams were cut suddenly as her body struck a wall full force like a truck in wreck.

The magic soon dissipated and Tazma's limp body fell to the ground. She was barely gasping for breath. She was barely alive.

She could feel that she was losing herself. She was faltering, wavering. She could feel her body starting to drift. She could feel the very life start to leave. She wasn't going to last much longer.

 _It's over…_

"…" it wasn't even a whisper, it couldn't even be considered inaudible. "No…" there was nothing left inside of her and yet "This isn't… over yet…" and yet she somehow found the strength. More like the undead she worked with, Tazma tried with everything in her power to get to her own two feet. Though her vision faltering, she looked at the group that nearly did her in "This…This isn't the end…Mysticons…" she spoke in barely what could be even called voice. Something was starting to form. "Next time, I'll win…" her very own shadow came to life and started to evelope. It was her emergency escape. She would leave and next time…next time for sure she would get them. She would get her revenge if it was the last thing she would d-

 _There is no next time…_

Pain ripped through her body almost instantaneous and all simultaneous, it had felt as if she was ripped right out of reality itself. Slammed hard and fast, she found herself pinned up against the wall, with a familiar hand wrapped around her neck, clutching her tightly. The one that now held her down wasn't the Mysticons -

 _Everyone must die!_

"Mal…varon…" -It was her own brother. Fear clouded Tazma's eyes as she struggled in her own sibling grasp, the very life being choked out of her. She was losing strength, her consciences fading. She could feel it as if it was her herself that she was losing. She tried to fight back but she no longer had the will. Then her eyes popped.

Malvaron raised his free hand a bright magic light took form. Tazma finally realized what it meant. That the final blow to take away her life was always meant to be from her brother. The Mysticons were in fact going easy on her.

"Good Bye Tazma!"

In a single moment memories came flooding back in waves. It was true that she and her brother always fought. But once upon a time they also once loved one another. They played together. They ate together. During the darkest of nights her brother was always there.

She remembered her jealousy. He was truly a gifted Astromancer. No matter how much she trained she would never be as strong as him. Had he even tried to master his studies surely he would have been the one destined to become the next Star Master.

It was her very own jealousy that created her own downfall. It was her own fault that she became a shadow user. It was her own fault she joined Dreadbane. It was her fault she was in this mess. It was her fault she was going to die. It was her own fault she was going to be killed by her own brother.

It was all her fault.

She regretted everything.

She wanted to try again.

"I'm sorry…"

All she could do was watch helplessly as she watched her brother's hand cave into her chest. There was a shape pain. Then there was nothing.

Tazma could feel nothing. Tazma could see nothing. Tazma could hear nothing. There was nothing.

Her essence was slipping, as if being pulled into the murky abyss that was her own shadow. As she drowned away into the pool of her own makings she was only left with her final thoughts.

Countless, countless regrets suffocated Tazma, pulled her deeper and deeper.

And with that Tazma's consciousness faded away.


End file.
